


Tequila Tuesdays

by cafeanna



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Nen, Boss Level Swearing, Drinking, Heatwave, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Strip Poker, Uvopika
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:27:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28025472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cafeanna/pseuds/cafeanna
Summary: Strip poker often brought out the worst in people.
Relationships: Kurapika/Uvogin | Ubogin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29
Collections: you shine so brightly i must look away





	Tequila Tuesdays

**Author's Note:**

> as per usual, whenever I get a new ship, I do a shitty one-shot before I go full-throttle, just so I can catch my stride with the pairing. 
> 
> I have established myself thoroughly as a kurokura writer and now I’m here. In crackship hell. Thanks be given to @Bug_Tongue (your brainworms are infectious and appreciated.)

Uvo was not exactly sure when Kurapika started hanging out at the house.

Somewhere between a party or a karaoke night, the Troupe, namely Paku and Machi, had sort of adopted him; taking him in as if he were one of their feral cats, soothed into domesticity through equal parts space and shelter. Shalnark had jokingly introduced him around as his long-lost cousin, but Uvo never checked the validity of that. Kuroro would wax that he was an angel, but Uvo was not too sure about that either.

When not being an insufferable piece of shit, he was fun to be around. He spoke four languages fluently, and taught Uvo how to cuss in two of them. He made coffee strong enough to put Phinks on his ass and could go rounds debating with Kuroro between the hours of _too_ and _early._ And Uvo had once seen him throw a man twice his size over his shoulder during one of the Troupe’s infamous nights out.

Still, Uvo never thought he would add _cheater at cards_ to that long list, though he supposed that he should not be surprised.

Strip poker often brought out the worst in people.

And Uvo could not for the life of him remember now the rhyme or reason behind the game, but the afternoon had just seemed to unfold that way. The power had blown all the way down the block and the trapped cool air had fogged up the glass until they were left no choice, but to force open the paint-chipped windows, dragging palms against water-rotten wood and splinters.

The stagnant air of the sunbaked day breathed in through the tapestry curtains.

The wind-up of events spread out on a hazy memory from there. Boredom tipping into annoyance as he tied his hair up off his neck, the sting of a lime against his fingers as Nobunaga poured out drinks for them on the last of the ice, and Shalnark shuffling his cards as they settled around a cinderblock table below the bay window.

The air outside was thick and woolly, nowhere to be, and shaving off a few layers in a game was just a way to pass the time until the landlord, or the city, or Kuroro (probably Kuroro) got around to getting the power back up and running.

Now, tequila-tongued and down to his boxers, Uvo was seeing red as he leaned over the coffee table, clothes crumbing under his palms, as he and Kurapika had it out. Kurapika who, despite several rounds, was still plenty dressed with his open collared button up and boy shorts, acting as if the heat wasn’t even bothering him.

“Read it and weep, Uvogin.” Kurapika snarled, splaying out his cards like a fan.

Four of a kind.

Mother _fucker_ —

On either side of him, Nobunaga and Shalnark folded their decks and each removed a sock to add to the pile while Uvo rested on his knees. Then, Kurapika was looking at him with that mean little smile, the one he usually reserved for Kuroro right before he put him out on his ass.

He was fanning himself with his cards. Malice baying under curling lips.

“What’s the matter, Uvo?” Kurapika asked, all lifting brows and dagger-teeth. “Feeling shy?” Then his eyes slipped down against his chest, grazing over his taut stomach to the cut of his faded boxers where they seemed to _linger_ for a heated number of seconds before Kurapika’s eyes snapped back to his, grin pulling wider.

Whoever said Kurapika was nice was a dirty fucking _liar_.

But fuck him if that pompous cocky-ass smile did not go straight to his dick.

Disgruntled, Uvo settled back on his haunches. Teeth grit.

He _had_ to be cheating. He had to.

But Kurapika was just so _uppity,_ so bothered with stupid-shit like that, so when the accusation fell from Uvo’s lips, his shoulders had gone all _stiff._ That mean little smile had sharpened into a grimace before he drew himself up to breathe fire.

Thus, the screaming match from across the table while Nobu and Shal exchanged singles, clinking their glasses because they _knew this would happen._ Uvo ignored them.

“—and you know what?” Uvo snapped, throwing his cards down. Two pair. And he had been feeling _lucky._ “Go fuck yourself!”

Kurapika drew himself up, all haughty as he threw back, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

Kurapika’s mouth pulled into an ugly snarl, throwing down his cards onto the table for emphasis. “Fuck me yourself, you coward!”

It comes out a little wrong.

Caught on the corner of his mouth, almost as if he had not meant to say it. 

It’s a joke. An old joke.

A fuckin’ stupid one.

Fuckin’ _high school level of shit—_

But for some stupid-ass reason, it caught a snag in Uvo’s mind. Between the comeback already curling on his tongue and the bleeding aggravation of the barmy air, his brain sort of just _flatlines_ between the crack of Kurapika’s words and the lingering insinuation.

His slack-jawed stare reached across the table, his friends’ faces turning fuzzy in the corners of his vision as his eyes narrowed onto _him,_ Kurapika, all blond and pretty (“Just how you like ‘em!” Phinks had said, not a week before, teasing), staring back at him with the same heat until his words seemed to catch up with him.

The reaction was a priceless decomposition of Kurapika’s up-right pose.

His smile dimmed. His eyes lost focus.

Kurapika’s already peaked complexion turning downright ruddy.

The burn against the tips of his ears, deep magenta and lips curling under teeth, bleaching pale under the press of them. “Wait, I, um—”

The indominable Kurapika was _stuttering._

And if Uvo were not blitzed by his own shock, he might have laughed and laughed hard, but his brain was still going laps, trying to get one and one to make two, before the clock ran down with the slow trickle of cognizance of four, three, two—

Kurapika wanted to fuck him.

Kurapika wanted to _be_ fucked by him.

He felt a little dizzy. Steam-simmering brain as he wrapped his rampant thoughts around the idea—those little fantasies of snapping hips and curving spine, Kurapika’s barbed tongue and thin fingers, noises spilling out like a _keen—_

His mouth tasted dry.

A sandpapered press of tongue against the roof of his mouth, dragging against his teeth. His lip parted.

“Are you fuckin’ with me?”

He was not sure why (well, he _was,_ he _was_ sure why), but between the tequila-babble, flushing cheeks, and the dewdrop of sweat sliding low against the divot of Kurapika’s collarbones, Uvo was sort of just _stuck._

Not a brush-off. Not a slip of the tongue.

An answer. He wanted an answer.

(Sort of needed it.)

Kurapika tipped his faced up to stare back at him, cards folding in his hands. His lips parting, color blooming back into them and drawing that singular freckle on his upper lip back into hiding. “Well, _of course—_ ”

“Well, now you’re just fuckin’ lying!” Uvo seethed.

Like he had not—

Like he had not made full eye contact with Uvo two rounds ago, stinging under the defeat by Nobunaga and Uvo’s crude comments, only to stand, flip up the belly of his shirt and curl his fingers against the knot of his sleeping shorts. A smooth pull of drawstring before the fabric slipped down his hips, pooling around his ankles, and all the while, Kurapika had maintained eye contact as he bent over, slowly stepping out before dropping the fabric onto the table—an offering, a dare.

Uvo’s eyes had set on the faint tan line on his thigh. The skin usually hidden now on display before Kurapika folded himself back out of view, still fully dressed from the waist up, and flushing under the cheers of his friends.

Sending the last _shred_ of Uvo’s sanity snarling through the grate.

“Jesus Christ.” Nobunaga put his face in his hands.

“Took them long enough,” Shalnark muttered, gathering the fallen cards. “Should we play another round? A different game?”

Uvo _ignored_ them.

He was on Cloud Nine.

“I can’t believe this.” He said, leaning back on his palms.

“Then don’t.” Kurapika groaned. His hands dragging through his hair, gathering it back into a knot off his neck. Teasing, Uvo drew his tongue across his lip, flexing a little, and to his delight, Kurapika buried his face in his hands. “It’s _way_ too hot for this bullshit.”

Uvo was positively _beaming._

“Well, if you’re too hot, my room is probably still a little cold.” He offered, meandering over the words his head tilted back towards the basement. A luxurious roll of shoulders and grin peaking at the corners of his mouth. “If you need to cool down.”

Nobunaga gagged, but Kurapika’s face was a vibrant vermillion.

No snappy little retorts. No curling venom-tongued threats.

Just a gap, like a fish, until—

“Uvo, I swear, if you keep talking, I’ll—” Kurapika trailed off, threat curling under his tongue. At least, it would sound like a threat if he weren’t the color of a plum right now.

“Aw, you’ll what?” Uvo drew his voice all low, eyes lid. “What’s the matter baby, cat got your tongue?”

Kurapika’s eyes reflected _murder._ “I’m done with you!”

Uvo shrugged because he could. “So be done with me.”

Kurapika made a noise, a half-choked, half-snarl. Fury clawing against its home in his throat. “That doesn’t even make any _sense,_ you dumbass!”

As he lived and breathed—

“Look,” Uvo said, waving his hand, “do you want to fuck in the basement or not? My underwear is coming off either way.”

It was not the sexiest of propositions.

And, if he was being honest, Uvo could not be fucked to care. Kurapika had been his roommate for months now. He was sure any line he tried to pull would be ultimately, and brutally, cut down before Uvo could make his case. No, the best course of action was to be upfront.

It’s what he’s best at, anyway.

Anticipation knotted in his stomach as Kurapika glared at him, hands braced on the table, his lime withered at the bottom of his glass, ice melting into a diluted fog. Uvo was hit with the distinct memory from earlier, Kurapika licking the salt off his wrist, pink tongue drawing flat against the bend.

He could think of a few ways to put that to use.

Added that to his little list of fantasies for later if the conversation turned sour.

Seconds like sand through the hourglass.

The deep flush on Kurapika’s cheeks had spilled down his neck, an angry press of heat trailing lower than Uvo could see—

Then Kurapika stood, hands curling into fists and mouth pursed, Uvo thought for a moment, for a second, that the blond might tell him to well and truly fuck off before stomping off to hide in his attic bedroom to sweat and sulk, but Kurapika paused, halfway between the staircase and the kitchen, his eyes flicking back to find Uvo.

He looked determined.

“Well, are you all talk or—?” Uvo was launching himself over the couch faster than Kurapika could finish, arm hooking around his waist as he pulled him into the kitchen, Kurapika’s body pressing tight against him as Uvo fumbled with the doorhandle, pulling them onto the landing. His friends’ shrieking reactions petering out as Uvo shut the door, sinking them into darkness.

Reflexively, his hand went for the light, but too quick remembered the power-outage and the reason for strip poker in the first place, but the slide of thin fingers against the tacky skin of his hip drew his attention.

“You know,” Kurapika said, drawing against the waistband of his boxers. His voice was even and tempered in the dark, the ease of the heat and embarrassment pulling off the flush. “The basement isn’t as soundproof as you think.”

His back hit the wall; the plaster already leagues cooler than the air in the kitchen. Kurapika’s body pressing tight against him, the only point of heat, adrenaline-numb fingers slipping down to the knuckle.

Uvo could not see him, but he knew Kurapika must be looking up, face tipping in degrees, hot breath fanning against his naked skin.

He was piecing together Kurapika’s words slowly.

And if Uvo had it in him to be embarrassed, he might have felt the heat of it slinking along his spine, but it was soon replaced with soft lips pressing against the ridge of his abdomen. A kiss, slow and warm. Gentleness pulling a hum from his throat.

“You have a thing for blonds, don’t you?”

Uvo was not sure if he should be more concerned that Kurapika’s voice sounded distinctly _lower,_ or that Kurapika had noticed his sudden shift in preference. Regardless, before he could answer, Kurapika’s lips returned, another heated press low against his abdomen, wet below his navel, pulling a long, low noise from his throat.

His fingers curled against the wall, sweat slicking his palms.

“But that’s okay.” He could feel the shift of sound beside his feet, two knees hitting the floor and his brain went _shit._

“Hey. Hey, Kurapika—”

He grasped blindingly for him, but Kurapika leaned out of his reach, lips grazing against his knuckles in the sightless darkness. The touch of sweetness distracting as his boxers were drawn down around his ankles, the timid cool of the basement clinging against his skin as hands dragged up his thighs, thumbs pressing against hipbones.

“What’s the matter, Uvo?” Kurapika asked, and Uvo could only imagine that too-proud, horribly bratty grin beaming up as a hand closed around him. Breath almost featherlight. “Feeling _shy_?”

**Author's Note:**

> *narrator voice* only three minutes had passed…
> 
> I imaging them (after scaring everyone) stumbling down the staircase into darkness, probably tripping over Uvo and Phinks’ weights before they find the bed. Because they’re cute like that. I need more Uvopika in my life. 
> 
> This isn’t the Uvopika I’ve been muttering about on the discords, but it’s the one I’ve whipped up because I’m having trouble pinning down Uvo’s voice. I’m very particular and annoying and I will hold onto it until it’s perfect, so no (e-rated, slightly dub-con strip club) fic until I can make Uvo sound like Uvo. Until then enjoy this and my languishing in agony.
> 
> Regardless, I would love to know your thoughts! I’m keeping this title so if a sequel ever takes me, I can call it Wing Wednesdays. Then, Thotty Thursdays. Freaky Fridays, etc. 
> 
> Hit me with your headcanons on twt @cafeannafics  
> -cafeanna


End file.
